


every eye trained on a different star

by madfatty



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: AU, F/M, Mild Angst, Sexual Content, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 07:19:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5618062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madfatty/pseuds/madfatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU of an AU where Mod Rae meets Punk Finn at a party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	every eye trained on a different star

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on a prompt received by and started by WitchStuff (Slitherouter) on tumblr. Mod!Rae meets Punk!Finn. Are you a Mod or a Rocker? is the resulting loveliness; go read that first! 
> 
> As it turns out, their modness/punkness serves little purpose to this story, other than to explain Finn's haircut and eyeliner. The title is stolen from the lyrics of Called Out in the Dark by Snow Patrol. Cheers, lads.

 

It’s going on for two a.m. and usually by now, he’s already chosen the lucky lass who’ll have the pleasure of his coveted, if temporary company, but tonight, he’s been distracted. He’s spent most of it trying to keep up with the very loud, very gobby Rae Earl and there’s been no time to work the Nelson magic on the various females they’ve accumulated in their travels. Not that it would take much. With little more coaxing than a direct gaze through hooded eyes, a casual flex of his bicep and a plume of smoke pushed out through perfectly pouted lips, he can usually convince his intended conquest to eagerly drop her knickers pretty easily. It’s kind of boring, when he thinks about it like that. 

Lately his entire focus has been on losing himself: in the music and the booze, in the random body of another. Things at home are complete shit, but a skinful of cheap vodka and a head full of dissonant guitar are enough to get him outside of himself most nights. A frenzied fucking in the stall of some club’s filthy bathroom; or the darkened doorway of one of the shops along the high street works too. The back seat of a mate’s car, or even just up against the car, if said mate won’t hand over the keys.  He doesn’t care.  He’s had them on park benches, in the bushes, anywhere at all; in fact, the weirder the location, the better the story for the boys. He used to think it was cool, the ridiculous ease with which he could, quite literally, have any girl on her knees, but lately he’s been thinking that it’s all a bit naff really. _Fucking is better than fighting though_ , he reminds himself. There’s the same sense of exhausted satisfaction, yes, but it’s far less damaging to his body. He’s learned that the hard way. That’s why he saves his anger for the music and the mosh pit. Still, there must be something more.

The party had been a bust and their small band of misfits had ended up at the all night café on the perimeter of the Uni campus, via a circular route. They’d wandered aimlessly for a while, arguing vigorously about where they should go. Everyone had agreed that they were starving but no-one could agree on where to eat, until the lateness of the hour had gradually eliminated all other prospects. Normally Finn would have bailed long before now, bored by the inaction and indecision, gone in search of other, more immediate distractions, But tonight, it seems, he’s content to go with the flow.

Not surprisingly, Rae had been the most vocal of the group, boisterously opining her unshakable views on everything, from the origins of the punk movement and its relevance today, to the welfare state and the current government’s abhorrent treatment of the poor. She is passionate and immoveable and despite himself, he’s a little bit fascinated.

He casts his eye around the half empty caf, sizing up the possibilities.  Pickings are definitely slim; he’s mostly been there and done that with the majority of likely candidates, with no desire to revisit the past.  He briefly considers Chloe, but experience tells him she’s one of those girls who’re easy to take home but difficult to get to leave. Far too much hassle. Across the table, Rae huffs a laboured breath and rolls her eyes at no-one in particular out of sheer boredom.  Finn scrutinizes her through lowered lashes.  She’s interesting, in an ‘out there’ sort of way and he’s kind of been wondering what she looks like in full colour – not just black and white. If he’s honest with himself, he’d admit he’s been thinking about what it would be like to fuck her since their snarky encounter outside the bathroom earlier this evening, but Finn is very rarely honest with himself, so he tells himself it’s late, too late, and he can’t be arsed to put any effort into finding someone else. Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner. 

“Right,” he says, standing up and scraping the metal chair across the fading linoleum, decision made.  “Come on then, you.” He inclines his head towards the door.

“What? Where?” Rae demands, remaining seated but looking up at him boldly, eyes narrowed.

“It’s well past my bedtime and I need tucking in.” He holds her gaze coolly, challenging her. She’s made him work hard all night and he’s not expecting it to get easy now. He’s never been knocked back before and there’s a frisson of excitement that ripples through him because she may just be the girl to do it.  He almost wants her to, curious to see how he’d handle it if she did. He’d like to think he’d just shrug and leave without looking back, but he can’t be sure.

She stops to consider him then, and it’s like she’s seeing him for the first time.  It’s not that Rae hasn’t noticed his looks, she’s not blind; it’s just his sour, sullen attitude that makes him less than appealing. But watching him now, she lets herself savour every sharp, well defined line of his body. She takes her time, allowing her eyes to rake down the length of him; slowly, deliberately, enjoying what she can see of the pale skin exposed by the artfully applied slashes to the t-shirt pulled tight underneath his leather jacket.  Her lustful gaze travels lower, loitering blatantly over the tightness of his jeans.

Eventually, her thorough examination of him concludes with his face. Rae makes no secret of her appreciation as their eyes meet, cheekily licking her lips. He _is_ very pretty, in spite of that horrendous hairdo and the insufferable smirk he’s currently wearing. She thinks he’s trying for indifference, but the slight shifting of his weight from one foot to the other is a pretty good indication that he may be a little more uncomfortable with her intense scrutiny than his bored demeanour would suggest. If he fucks as good as he looks, and she’s heard that he does, Rae can’t think of a single reason not to leave with him. They don’t have to talk to each other. She answers his cocked eyebrow with a casual shrug of her shoulders and a “Yeah, fuck it. Why not?”, and she is up and out of her chair. 

She leans down to kiss Archie squarely on the mouth, leaving a perfect crimson cupid’s bow that Archie’s already scrubbing at with his hand, and Finn thinks about what it will be like to see that particular shade of red smeared across his own skin.  She waves good night to Chloe, sitting across the room and she’s heading out the door. “Get a wriggle on, Romeo; before I change my mind.”

The short walk to her digs is quiet and uneventful. There are no furtive looks or coy smiles, no stolen kisses or tentative touches. Neither has much to say when she lets them in to her small, dishevelled room, but the mood changes abruptly when her offer of tea is swallowed by Finn’s hard open mouth against hers.

They careen from surface to surface until Finn falls, rather ungracefully, onto Rae’s unmade bed, dragging her down awkwardly with him.  They twist and turn, shifting to arrange themselves into a more comfortable position without coming up for air.

“Am I too heavy?” She makes to lift herself off his lap where she’s landed, but his hands shift to her hips, his fingers digging into the softness of her there, sowing purple blooms for morning.  His hands are everywhere at once, sliding up her back, curling round her shoulders, tangling in her hair, pulling her all the while impossibly closer. 

“I’m going to take that as a no, then.” She smirks breathily, before his tongue plunges once more into her grinning mouth.

She’s soft and pliant everywhere. The gentle yielding of her flesh beneath his hands is an unexpected thrill and his new favourite thing. She smells of green apples, and it’s so fucking intoxicating that he may never be able to go into a green grocer’s ever again without embarrassing himself.  He’s got her dress rucked up, sitting impossibly tight at the wide extravagance of her hips and her ridiculous glittery tights pulled down to her knees. The teasing flash of white skin and black underwear are doing things to him he’s finding difficult to control. He’s managed to get her zipper half way down and the front of her dress has slipped far enough forward to offer him a frustratingly partial view of the most amazing set of tits he’s ever had the good fortune to witness up close.  They are ripe and full and quite frankly magnificent, and the steady pinking of her creamy skin there and at her shoulder, at her throat, and on her cheeks is so mesmerizing to him that he can’t tear his eyes away.

There’s something about the way her movement is restricted that is making this all the more exciting for Rae. She doesn’t have the full reach of her arm, due to the awkward angle at which her dress is falling from her shoulder, and she needs her skirt pulled all the way up over her hips and her tights pulled all the way down if she wants to make full contact with his burgeoning hard-on, but she has to admit that this delay to their connection is adding a delicious edge to the experience. Makes it hotter, more urgent; kind of desperate, she supposes. It’s sexier somehow. Sexier still is the growl he makes when she pushes his leather jacket off his shoulders, temporarily binding him so he can’t move either and they’re just thrashing against each other until she can force it all the way down his arms and fling it across the room.

Finn spends an inordinate amount of time with his mouth pressed greedily against her. His lips and tongue and teeth drag wet trails along her fevered skin, his nose and chin nudging insistently at her dress until more and more of her is exposed. His breath hitches at the heavenly expanse of flesh spilling over the black lace of her bra and he thrills at the idea that one more deep sigh from her should see it shift enough to free her nipple.  He’d do it himself but his hands are full; the generous swell of her arse, the lush curve of her hips and the never ending length of her back all require his immediate attention. Besides, there is something in the anticipation of it, the lingering ‘almost’ of it, that is making him shiver; convinces him to wait for it to happen in its own time.

Her frustration and determination as she presses herself against him has him moaning against her overheated flesh in the most satisfying of ways. Rae’s hungry to kiss him but she needs his mouth right where it is. She’s got his face clamped hard against her cleavage and she’s okay with the idea of him smothering if he’ll just keep doing that thing with his tongue.

She doesn’t have enough hands. Rae wants to explore the breadth of his shoulders, follow him down to the narrowness of his hips, feel the power of his muscular arms, trace the length of his thick fingers, guide them to the centre of her, teach him exactly how bring her undone. She wants to feel the weight of him in her hand, discover the exact rhythm that will make him lose his mind and she wants it all now, but she has to hold his head right where it is, in case he moves the wrong way and ruins it all.

Finn is spellbound by the hypnotic rocking of her hips and the grasping of her needy fingers, roughly massaging his scalp; he’s already absolving her of the suspected crime of completely destroying his carefully constructed hair. He is prepared to forgive her anything right now if she just keeps moving like that.

What he really wants is full access to those glorious tits. He’s been patient up ‘til now, but he’s had enough of waiting.  His hands fumble from beneath her dress to pull her closer, his fingers ghosting the curve of her arse. He can’t help it, the heat of her draws him in and that first touch of her skin is electric. She must feel it too, because she lurches forward, rising up. He watches her in fascination; her head thrown back, eyes and mouth wide as she pushes herself against him, chasing more contact.  Finn likes the way she shudders when his fingers taunt her sensitive flesh. The sound she makes is filthy and addictive. He echoes it when she pulls down hard on the front of her dress in frustration, and her breasts spill free.  It’s better than Christmas, and it’s his turn for his eyes to grow big, his mouth and hands greedily gathering up all the newly exposed flesh. There’s a low-pitched whine vibrating against his lips that goes straight to his cock. He thinks there’s every chance he may black out due to lack of oxygen as he lavishes his devotion on first one and then the other, but if he has to die of asphyxiation, this is the way he wants to go.

Now his concentration can be trusted, Rae’s fingers slip beneath his barely held together t-shirt, blunt fingernails raking over his shoulders and chest, roughly catching at his nipples, up and down the flat planes of his stomach. She paws at the button of his jeans, palming him through the straining denim. She tugs doggedly at his fly until she’s holding him, thick and hot in her hand and she shivers at the thought of him inside her.  The feeling escalates at the strangled sound that gurgles in his throat and the rather gratifying frantic jerking of his hips as she begins to stroke him.

Rae stiffens slightly and her hand stills when he grips her thighs, his touch becoming hesitant as his fingers trace the unexpected landscape of her skin. He looks up at her, his eyes struggling to focus. Through his lust filled haze, he registers her sudden tension. “What’s this?” He stutters breathlessly.  He watches her wrestle with something momentarily before she straightens her spine and exhales, meeting his gaze.

“I used to hate myself. A lot. And I used to be very… unkind to myself.” Whatever he is about to say is lost as she cuts him off.  “I don’t do that anymore. I’m… I’m getting better.”

Finn drags his eyes away from hers to take in the evidence of her self-hatred. There are scars of varying depths and hues; some are still bright and angry, which makes his stomach sicken. He doesn’t know what to think about the truth she has just handed him. No one ever tells you how they really feel. It’s an unwritten law that you never give anything away. To anyone. Everyone he knows wears a mask, himself included. But not this girl. While he can almost make sense of feeling so bad on the inside that hurting yourself physically might actually feel like relief, what he can’t comprehend is how someone as sure and confident as Rae could ever feel that way. He runs his fingers over her battle-scarred skin, so lost in his own thoughts that he almost doesn’t hear her exhale unsteadily. He looks up at her then, into her wide, bright eyes and marvels at her strength.

“Listen, if you don’t want to …”                               

Finn takes her face between both his hands, his mouth hard and insistent against hers. Rae squeaks when he rises to his knees, his hands coming around her quickly to lift her, lowering her back onto the bed. He positions himself between her thighs and falls upon her hungrily, mapping her scars with the drag of his tongue until Rae is trembling.  He works his way up, up, not stopping when he’s met with black lace.  Finn growls against the flimsy fabric, pushes his face into it, his tongue teasing around the edges, until she’s making that noise again.  He torments her until she’s got a handful of his hair and she’s writhing against his face so brazenly, he’s worried she’s going to break his nose. She’s swearing like a sailor, moaning gutturally as he pushes the lace to one side and works his tongue over her sweet, wet cunt. Rae hisses and he thinks he’s going to lose it right then and there.  His mouth and hands are relentless, chasing all the pleasure he can wring from her and it isn’t long before she is coming explosively above him. 

He moves up the length of her body, desperate to feel the heat he’s already tasted consume him and swallow him whole. He fumbles clumsily in his back pocket for his wallet but she’s slapping his hand away and producing a small square of silver foil seemingly from thin air. Finn drags his jeans and underwear down roughly over his hips while her hands are occupied with fitting the condom over him. He gives up before he can get them past his thighs, more intent on removing the obstacle of her knickers. He pulls at them with such fierce determination that they come apart in his grip. Unrepentant, Finn slips eagerly inside her. 

Overwhelmed, he stills, revelling in the sensation of her surrounding him.  Rae bucks beneath him, tightening around him and his eyes almost roll back in his head.  “Move,” she whines, “now,” urging him with another revolution of her hips and his body takes over.  Her legs wrapped around him are a vice, her hands tight around his biceps as he sets a punishing pace.  She strains forward, licking at his chest, biting at his shoulders, dragging her teeth over the skin of his throat and every shift in angle of her body brings him hurtling closer and closer to the edge. Rae’s not quite there yet and she’s not shy about letting him know and there’s a confused scramble of hands between them to bring her off again. It’s her mouth that finally does him in; a litany of filth pouring from her plump, pink pout and he’s completely undone, shuddering above her.

They lie together, spent and sweaty and out of breath. They shift and settle against each other, the mood between them shifting too. He slips the condom off and into the tissue she’s discreetly handed him and she drops it in the nearby bin.

This is normally the bit where he leaves. When everyone’s had a nice time and no one’s been hurt. Before the girl gets the wrong idea and starts clinging because he doesn’t do cuddling. But Rae’s not curling up into his side, clutching at him, or looking up at him coyly through her lashes and asking when they can see each other again and if he’s going to call; she’s quiet, caught up in her own head, like she’s forgotten that he’s even there.  Truth is, this isn’t so bad; he’s comfortable here, squashed up against her in her messy single bed and she still smells really good. Five minutes can’t hurt, just to get his breath back. He throws his forearm over his eyes and lets his body relax into the mattress.

“Well, that was… intense.” She offers.

“…unusual.” He says at the same time.

“Unusual?” There’s a silence that goes on a little too long. When he glances over at her she’s waiting. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

He’s not sure what’s wrong with ‘unusual,’ but it doesn’t sound like it’s a good thing. It’s probably safer for him not to say anything, so he doesn’t.

“So, what? That’s one off your bucket list then, is it? Fuck a fat girl; tick!”

He raises his arm from his face to stare at her.  Her words feel like a challenge but her tone is indifferent. Alarm bells start going off in his head. So, she really is just a typical girl then, and for some reason, that realization disappoints him. He thought she understood the only thing on offer here was a bit of fun. Finn’s got enough drama in his life to be going on with, he doesn’t need someone else’s shit to be adding to it.

“Thanks for choosing _me_. It’s such an honour. Really.” She deadpans; the look she throws him is unreadable. He can’t make her out.

“I meant the bed.” Finn clarifies, warily.

“Wow. Now I really do feel special.”

He’s still practically fully clothed, so all he needs to do is find where she threw his jacket and he can be gone, make a clean getaway. But there’s something stopping him. Yeah, she’s been making judgements all night, but that ‘fat girl’ comment’s pissed him off. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not like that.

“Hey, listen…” He says, indignantly and starts to sit up. “I never…”

“Oh, lighten up, Sid Vicious,” she laughs. She sinks back into the pillow, mirroring his previous position, with her forearm over her face. “For fuck’s sake.”

The glare he gives her then is wasted. She’s not paying any attention to him at all. Who _is_ this girl? And what the fuck just happened? Is she serious, or is she taking the piss? He can’t tell. He’s never met anyone like her. She’s scary smart with a wicked sense of humour, which is a lethal combination when it’s directed right at you. He’s not used to any of it and he can’t quite get his bearings. Despite his confusion, there’s one thought that keeps going round and round in his head; this girl is so fucking cool. It isn’t helping, and neither is the other recurring thought that he seems to be feeling a little lower down: Rae Earl is as sexy as hell. It’s this particular thought that may explain his sudden decision to get naked.  

“Oh my God, what _are_ you doing?” Rae moans, not lifting her arm to see.

“I’m trying…” he whines, kicking ineffectually at the legs of his jeans, which are bunched up around his ankles, and grunting in frustration, “… to get my jeans off, but I can’t them past my boots.”

Any sort of cool he’s attempting to maintain is rapidly evaporating as he twists and squirms next to her, sending an unintentional elbow into her side.

“You’ve still got your boots on?” She sounds really offended. “Is that, like, a regular thing? Do you always keep them on? Is it so you can make a quick getaway?”

He still can’t tell if she’s being serious or just messing with him. He’s not sure, but he thinks he sees her trying to suppress a smile. Can he tell her “yes”? Can he tell her this is the longest time he’s ever spent with a girl after fucking her without her making a big deal out of it? Is she cool enough to handle that information? Is he?

Finn schools his features into something neutral.  “I didn’t hear you complaining.” He holds her gaze for a beat before turning away, hoping to God that they’re messing around.

Before he can decide, she’s coming back at him, “I doubt you could hear anything, your face buried in my chest like that." He exhales kind of shakily and now they’re both trying not to giggle at the ceiling.

He pulls away from her, sitting up to tug at his bootlaces, looking at her rather pointedly as he toes at his boots until they thud to the floor, before yanking his jeans and boxers off the rest of the way . He moves back up the bed to nestle down beside her once again.

Rae tugs at what’s left of his t-shirt, and he sits up long enough to pull it up over his head and throw it across the room.

 “Happy now?” Finn mumbles, hoping he sounds casual.

“Mildly.”

“If it makes you feel better, next time, I’ll take them off. Promise.”

“You spoil me. Anyway, what makes you think you’ll be invited back?”

“What makes you think I’m leaving?”

“We’re not allowed pets in the residences.”

“Is there ever a time when you don’t have something smart to say?” Finn grumbles as he turns to her, reaching back to work the zipper on her dress all the way down.

“Not really, no.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

As he gently peels away her clothing, his touch lingers soothingly over the angry red skin where the fabric has pulled too tight against her flesh. The air around them cools, causing her to shiver. He reaches over her, collecting her duvet from the floor and wraps her up in it, then pulls her in close.

His tenderness surprises her. She’d been expecting him to bolt the minute it was over, throwing vague excuses and hurried goodbyes over his shoulder as he ran from the room, never to be seen again; not this easy, flirtatious conversation, or him filling the empty spaces in her bed, tracing random shapes against her skin.

His chest is a map made of angry red marks where her mouth has been on him, marring the milky whiteness of his flesh; there’s a particularly painful looking jag of broken skin where one of the safety pins keeping him together had come open in the melee. She runs a gentle fingertip over it and he hisses at the sting. She makes a sympathetic noise, bends to press her lips chastely over it. The hiss becomes a groan with the lazy swirl of her tongue sweeping along the scrape and he pushes himself closer, the chill of her breath against the wet trail left by her busy mouth a delicious torment. As much as he wants to continue down this very exciting road, there’s something that’s bothering him.

There’s a question he wants to ask her but he can’t concentrate, the fall of her dark hair ebbing like seaweed across his skin, ghosting along every nerve ending, stirring the barely-out fire in his belly. He gathers it all up gently, pushing it away from her face, watches as it cascades and pools at the nape of her neck, stealing a moment to rub the silk of it between his coarse fingers.

“Can I ask you something, Rae?” The sound of her name on his lips is odd and jarring for them both. He’s not used her name before.

She nips sharply at his flesh and it goes straight to his groin. He has to close his eyes and think about something else or he’ll never get through this. When he opens them again, she’s looking very pleased with herself. “As long as it’s not to make you a cup of tea.”

He gives a tiny appreciative snort and shakes his head.

“I’m serious, Nelson. If you want tea, you’re going to have to make it yourself.”

The grin she gives is small and almost sweet, a gentle pause as she waits for him to start, but now that she’s looking at him, he’s not sure he can ask.

“What is it, Finn?” she prompts softly.

“Did you mean what you said before, about punk being nothing more than an outdated pose and a desperate cry for attention?”

“You remember that, do you?”

“You calling me a poseur and a part-time punk?  What was it again?” He squints up at the ceiling as if trying to recall. “Oh yeah, a half-arsed, weekend wannabe – all pose and no purpose? Yeah, I remember.”

“I didn’t think you were listening. And I certainly didn’t think you’d care.” She tries to laugh it off, until she sees the injured look in his eyes. While her comments had been directed at him, she had no idea that he’d actually heard her. He appeared oblivious to everything going on around him, especially when it came to her, so now she’s a little thrown. Not only had he heard what she’d said, he’d remembered it pretty much word for word and now he was calling her on it. She has to stop for a moment and consider her next words carefully.  

“Can I tell you a secret, Finley?” she asks him quietly, hoping he’ll take what she says at face-value. She’s very conscious now of not wanting to hurt his feelings. “I say a lot of things that I don’t necessarily believe.  It’s a game I play sometimes to amuse myself.  I’ll go off on one; say whatever comes into my head in the moment, just to get a rise out of whoever’s around, but it’s all pretty much complete bollocks, most of the time.” It’s not exactly a lie, but Rae can feel her face warming anyway, hotter still than the parts of her that are touching him. She can’t bring herself to look at him.

“I don’t believe that.” His voice is small but resolute. He shifts a little, settling closer to her; propping himself up on his elbow so he can see her face when he asks, “Honestly Rae, do you really think I’m a fake?”

He can’t fathom why what this girl thinks of him suddenly means so much. She didn’t even exist for him before tonight, she was just one of the circling ghosts on the edge of his fucked-up world but now, after this strange and unexpected night, he seriously needs to know what she sees when she looks at him.

Finn’s been hiding so long he didn’t think anyone could see him anymore. But she can. She can see right inside him, he can feel it, past all the bullshit and bravado until he’s left blinking into the steady white-hot glare of her gaze. He should be scared, but there is something about Rae Earl that makes him feel safe enough to risk hearing the truth.

Rae curses her glib tongue and her incessant need to be seen as clever, because now this quiet, confusing boy is placing too much stock in her daft, bullshit waffling and bewitching her into telling the truth.  This was just supposed to be a bit of fun, a one-off shag, something to make another boring Saturday night go a little faster. She wishes they could just go back ten minutes and not talk at all. She wishes he had just made a run for the door, because she knows what to do with that. It’s the bizarre twist of him staying and the total insanity of him wanting something real from her that she has no idea how to handle. No one has ever cared this much about what she thinks before. She wants desperately to shrug him off, joke it all away but she takes one look at his open, earnest face gazing expectantly down at her and she just can’t do it. _Fuck_.

“I think…” she says, fixing her gaze on the crack in the cornice above her bed, “everyone has shit to deal with and it’s nobody else’s business how they choose to deal with it.”  She wants to leave it there; change the subject, kiss him again, anything to stop him looking at her like she has all the answers. But he doesn’t. She’s going to have to give him more. _Double fuck_.

“Look, Finn, I don’t know you, I don’t know what your drama is.” She almost laughs. The ridiculous thing is, it’s true; she doesn’t know him, and despite the fact that they are lying naked together in her bed and that not twenty minutes ago he was inside her, it’s highly probable she may never speak to him again after tonight. The whole thing is so surreal. She can’t understand why it’s so important to him, only sees that it is, so she presses on. “But what I do know is, that everybody’s got some and if all that noise and rage speaks to you, if you can find something in it that can take you out of your particular brand of shit and make you feel better, even just for a little while, then who am I to judge?”

While she’s speaking, his arm slips between them where they lay, settling gently against hers. His fingers are a soft curl, sitting in the crease of her elbow, resting against the dip of her waist beneath the curve of her breast, warming the thin cotton sheet that separates them.  It’s distracting, in a very pleasurable way, and Rae has to bite her lip before she can continue.

“I’m the last one to be pointing fingers, so, as long as you’re not hurting yourself; or anyone else...”  

“You didn’t answer my question.” He pushes. Her breath hitches at the light graze of his knuckles against the underside of her breast. She drops the loose thread from the sheet she’s been plucking at distractedly and draws her arm across her body, her fingers falling just shy of his. She finally allows herself to look up at him.

“I don’t think you’re a fake. A little fucked up maybe, but so’s everyone I know. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.”  She whispers.

Her eyes do this soft searching thing that reinforces the blossoming feeling he has that she really does see him.  It makes his insides flip. He’s beginning to like it.

“S’alright.” He says, and he means it. Because he knows she means it. “You can make it up to me… you can make me that brew.”

“I’m not that sorry, Nelson.” She snorts.

She is so unaffected by him, she’s not swooning or giddy or girly; she’s totally cool and completely unimpressed. He’s suddenly aware that he’s not the one in charge here and it rattles him a little. Almost without thinking, he falls back into standard behaviour and his bottom lip drops.   

“Did you just pout at me? She sputters, her eyes narrowing. “Seriously, does that shit actually work on other girls?” 

“Usually. Yeah.” He ducks his head, having the good grace to be embarrassed, but it doesn’t last long.  She’s laughing at him and it’s such a full, rich, opulent sound. They’re lying so close it doesn’t just feel like it’s coming from inside her but from inside him too. It feels amazing.

“Jesus. What sort of girls are you hanging out with?”

 _All the wrong ones_ he thinks, but he only shrugs.

“All the wrong ones, obviously.” She says and it’s a good thing he’s lying down. 

“I like it when you laugh,” he murmurs when he regains his composure, “even if you are laughing at me.” He’s enthralled by the calming rise and fall of her chest, reaches out cautiously to follow the delicate dip of her collarbone.

“That’s probably because there’s so much of me that has a good time,” she jokes, but he’s so caught up in his task that he doesn’t respond.

“Finn…”

He hums distractedly, his focus now completely on acquainting himself with the topography of her body. She could get used to his hands being on her.

Finn is nothing like she expected. He’s funny and smart and contemplative. Yeah, he’s a little serious, but despite her first impressions, he doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously. He seems to be a nice guy, once you get past all the posturing, and apparently he’s happy enough to be here with her.  She watches him studying her and finds herself wanting to hear his voice. He’s still quiet though and it’s a little disconcerting. Lucky for Rae, she’s never met a silence she couldn’t fill.

Taken by a sudden urge to touch him, she pushes back his sweat-damp fringe. “Sorry.” She says, nodding up at his hair. “Your ‘do’ didn’t survive.”

“S’okay,” he counters solemnly, “your knickers didn’t make it either.” They eye each other ruefully, silently daring the other to laugh.

She smiles at the smudge of his eyeliner, so sharp and defined before, now a blur beneath his dark sleepy eyes and swipes her thumb along the outline of his lips, his neck and chest, trying to corral the stain of her lipstick on his skin. He stops his exploration to still her hand with his own.

“Don’t. I want to wear you home.” He holds her gaze as steadfastly as he holds her hand against his chest and she cannot help but blush.

“You’re beautiful.” The words leave her mouth as she thinks them and her colour deepens.

“So are you.” He says, and for a moment, the way he’s looking at her, she can almost believe he means it.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I know. You are though… ” He swallows hard, the tip of his tongue slipping out long enough to moisten his dry lips. He seems shy all of a sudden. “Can I kiss you?”

She laughs at him then, high and nervous.  “After all _that_ , you…” The look in his eyes stops her mid-sentence. Stops her breathing. It’s her turn to be shy. “Ask me again.”

“Please Rae, can I kiss you?”

“Yes, Finn. You can kiss me. ” She realizes she’s never actually seen him smile before; she’d definitely remember it if she had. His whole face lights up and softens, his eyes are bright and shining and she thinks she has never seen anything quite so lovely as a smiling Finn before she stops thinking altogether and he closes the gap between them.

 

 


End file.
